Warnings/Disclaimers: This is an original story and contains underage sexual activity. If that is not to your taste or illegal where you are residing, please don't continue reading. Please do not lift off any of the material without permission. The characters, plot or the lack thereof, dialogues and whatever other rahrahrahs are mine. I have been told that I am rather possessive. I don't know how I got here but I did so here you go. The Security Guard by d a m n a t i o n shag_chic@hotmail.com Silver doors slid open after a melodic ding and people in officewear suddenly filled the lobby of the building. Heels clicked and jumbled strands of conversation floated as they made a beeline for the exit. Frank, the security guard, tipped his hat at them. His day was just starting; he wouldn't be out of the building until three in the morning. But he was used to it. The job fed his family relatively well and he made the most of the odd working hours. His afternoons were free and he spent most of them with his two children, Ben and Harper, when they got home from pre-school. Some days, he would take them to the park and play ball. Other days, he would help them build something in the garage. Today, they had embarked on a new project. He had surprised them the day before with a large box that was wrapped up in shiny, silver paper. He smiled when he recalled the excitement on his children's faces. That look was worth every bad moment in his life. Even though Ben was only five minutes older than Harper, he took his role as Harper's big brother very seriously. As excited as he was, Ben had let Harper open the present as he stood beside her, his big brown eyes anticipating. When the unwrapping revealed a model airplane, they squealed and ran to him, throwing their little arms around his neck. Frank chuckled when he recalled them squirming and shrieking in his arms as he rubbed his stubbles against their smooth faces. His little angels. They were growing up so quickly, though. Sometimes he wished that he could slow time down. He hoped they knew how much he loved them. They were his life. "Have a good weekend, folks," he called out cheerily. Some of them gave him a smile. Others walked on by with a nod of acknowledgment. Then the big swinging doors closed behind them and Frank was alone again in the lobby. This should be the last of the working crowd. He locked up the doors. Returning to his seat, he glanced at the small, black and white monitors. Everything was as it should be. He took a sip of his coffee and sat back, willing the hours to go by. Ben was a meticulous worker while Harper was creative. So, while Ben helped Frank piece the model airplane together, Harper sat in a corner, painting the wings in the swirling design that she loved so much. He could already tell that it was going to be the best model airplane. It would look beautiful soaring through the air. A movement in one of the small monitors caught his attention, interrupting his thoughts. He sat up, leaning closer to the screen, half-thinking that it was his imagination, but wanting to be sure just in case. He had never had the cause to worry in his job. This was a small building and there were less than ten companies occupying the four storeys. The numbers on the bottom right corner of the screen told him that it was a little past two in the morning. His shift was almost over. Just as he was about to lean back in his seat, he saw it again: there was definitely a movement in one of the dark offices on the second level. His mind worked quickly. There were two law firms on that level. Perhaps not everyone had left the premises yet. Even so, he thought it better to have a look. It was his job, after all. Humming softly under his breath, Frank picked up a large torchlight and checked that he had his keys attached to his belt loop. Giving the screen one last look to make sure that it was, indeed, the second level that he had to investigate, Frank moved away from his station. On Father's Day this year, Frank received a card that his children made together. Ben printed the card neatly with his small and concise handwriting. "We love you, Daddy," it read, "You are the bravest man." Frank had always joked that Ben was a little old man. Even his handwriting was mature. Harper drew the three of them below the words: In the middle was Frank in his uniform, tall and smart, and Ben and Harper were holding his hands. All three of them were smiling. That was how Harper expressed herself--hardly through words. The two children were as different as day and night, yet they were completely devoted to each other. The elevator ding-ed and the silver doors slid open. Frank turned his torchlight on. It was probably nothing, he told himself. But he could not help feeling a little nervous. His shoes made soft, clicking sounds on the smooth marble floor. He took comfort in it being the only sound that echoed down the corridor. He almost snorted to himself at that; what was this rubbish? Wait till he told Ben and Harper about this. They would giggle at how their big, strong daddy was feeling jumpy when he did his rounds. Had he not walked this way a thousand times before, checking that all was well? But the self-depracating thought did nothing to ease the forebodance that had snuck up on him. Even though the corridor was lit, the offices were dark. Frank shone his torch into the first office that came up on his right. This was where he saw the movement on the monitor. He reached out for the silver bar on the glass door and put a little weight on it, expecting it to resist his push. It didn't. His heart skipped a beat. This would make a good bedtime story, Frank thought to himself. He had the day off tomorrow and he would be sure to tell Ben and Harper how their dad got the willies just because someone forgot to lock their office up. Taking a deep breath, Frank stepped into the office, past the door that read "Richards & Richards Associates". He cleared his throat. "Hello? Anyone there?" This lawfirm dealt mainly with juvenile crime. The owner of the firm, Mr Richards, was a rather handsome man in his late thirties. Frank did not see him much, for Mr Richards normally left the firm before Frank came in to work, but on the few occasions that he did, the man always made him feel uncomfortable despite his looks and apparent charm. Frank never knew the reason why he felt that way about a man who was almost a stranger to him. Mr Richards had been nothing but polite to him. "Hello," Frank tried again. Upon getting no reply, Frank was about to turn around and leave the office when he heard a thump. It wasn't threatening--perhaps a folder being dropped on the floor--but it indicated the presence of someone else and that was potentially threatening. It could be nothing, Frank told himself again. An employee could have stayed back late to finish up his or her work, and he or she could have fallen asleep, therefore not answering him. They could have stirred in their sleep and knocked a folder over in the process. That was completely plausible. But still his heart rammed painfully in his chest. Harper would hide behind Ben at this part of the story, Frank thought, trying to calm himself down. And Ben would be silent, listening to Frank seriously. He walked further in and spotted a thin line of light under a door. That was probably where the sound had come from. He approached it silently and paused at the door, one hand on his torch and the other on the doorknob. Something kept him from calling out again. He followed his instincts and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open in one swift motion. There were two people in the room. Mr Richards, head flung back on his seat, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open. He was moaning under his breath. Frank's eyes continued their trek down to the dark head between the man's legs--no doubt the reason for the look on the man's face. Papers and folders scattered the floor near them. Frank wished that he had kept to his business. This wasn't something that he wanted to witness. At the sound of the door opening, Mr Richards' eyes opened slowly. Upon spotting Frank, shock flooded his features and he roughly pulled the head between his legs away. Frank was about to back out of the room when he caught sight of the person on the floor. Why, he looked no older than fifteen! That was when Frank truly comprehended the scene before him. He was outraged but the very same emotion froze him. And then everything happened at once. A drawer was pulled open. A gun was pointed at Frank. The boy on the floor looked frightened and frantic. The face behind the gun looked desperate and angry. Frank wasn't sure if he heard the loud blast or if he felt the hit in his chest first. The impact was so great that he was flung backwards. He touched a hand to his chest and felt warm moisture. More and more of the warm substance poured out, staining his hand and uniform front. It was his lifeforce, and at this moment, his lifeforce was being drained from him. He looked at his blood red hand in disbelief. How could this be happening? It had to be a dream. Yes, he was dreaming. Otherwise, how could he be hovering above himself, looking down at his own body? But no. All that blood on his hand and shirt. . . All that blood that was seeping from under him, all over the cold, marble floor. . . All that blood was real. He could hear someone crying and someone else shouting for the other to shut up. But that did not matter to him anymore. He was lying in his own pool of blood and he felt so very tired. It was nearing the end of his shift. He would be home in fifteen minutes after handing over to Tim. He would climb the stairs up to his children's room and kiss them both on their foreheads before going back to his own room. He would wake up in a few hours to make them breakfast and take them to pre-school, swinging the hands that would be given to him trustingly. Then his eyes opened. This man who had just shot him was betraying the trust of all the children that he was claiming to help. This man was violating the most sacred thing in the world. Anger lent him strength. Frank managed to pull himself up. His left hand which had been holding on to the torchlight went to his gun holster. In all the years of being a security guard, he had never had to use his gun. It was, as he had always believed and told Ben and Harper, just for show. But now--now he finally found the cause. He freed the gun from the holster as his mind cried out for him to hurry up. He was moving too slowly; Richards would not be distracted by the crying boy for long! The loud shot rang through the office. The man towering over the boy stopped shouting. For a second, Frank thought that he had missed. Richards turned as Frank squeezed the trigger again. This time Frank was sure that he was right on target. Richards' eyes were disbelieving, then they went blank. The two men went down together. Frank saw the terrified look on the boy's face as he fell. They were going to finish the airplane tomorrow. The colours on the plane swirled behind Frank's closed lids. They were going to take it out when it was finished and fly it for the first time in the park. It was going to be the most beautiful airplane, soaring freely in the air. It was going to be the product of Ben's careful hands, Harper's creativity and Frank's utmost pride. [ tangled ]